Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Monsters, Inc.

Joe, for some unknown reason, has developed a fear of monsters. Or at least a monster obsession. This morning he asked me to get him dressed and I told him to go into his room and begin taking off his pajamas. I was immediately met with a question in the form of a statement, "There's no monsters in my room, mom?" He asks me this every single time we go into a room that is empty or he is summoned to enter a room by himself. I hope that he outgrows it because what will his wife do when he is the one who wakes her when he hears a noise in the middle of the night.

I understand his fear. To be honest, I have the same one. Except I don't fear the same kind of monsters that a four year old does. My monsters are bigger and they usually want to steal my money or my shoes. He is too young to understand why mommy walks around the house at night carrying a baseball bat and saying things like, "I am sure glad that I passed my black belt test in Tae Kwon Do" on the off beat chance that some random psychopath is lurking in the shadows of my kitchen.

I guess we never really outgrow our fears, they just morph into other fears. And the older we get, the more sophisticated we become at justifying them. I sometimes wish that I could just walk around and say, I'm scared of the monsters.

Wordless Wednesday

Laundering

The other kind of laundering.


"Mom?" asked John. "Is it illegal to photocopy money?"

I chuckled and said, "Yes, sweetie, unfortunately it is."

But...what if it wasn't.

Look Alikes

Joe has recently discovered the joy of biking. He has also developed a love of wearing things, thing like the string to his brother's sweatpants, on his cranium.

The other day I was cleaning the FROG and happened upon a movie case. The movie was First Blood. Yes, we are all about the classics here in this house. As I looked at the cover something struck me as...odd. Call it deja'vu if you will. Where had I seen this look before?

You see it, too. Don't you. All Sly needs is a miniature bike and a pirate shirt and they could be twins.

Wha?

I am presently trapped under something heavy and will post tomorrow. I know all 2 of you are waiting on pins and needles.

Happy Easter!

Joe found his Easter basket in the train basket. He saw the jelly bean filled basket, grabbed the handle and ran to feast. I had to send him back for the solid bunny. Mainly because I wanted some chocolate.
Jeremy found his in the kitchen. He actually looked in this cabinet twice before finding it. Once I informed him that bending was necessary, he was good.
John told me to hide his "somewhere hard, so I have to really look." So I did. And then Joe and Jeremy found their baskets and John was still searching. "Give me a hint," he said. so we played hot and cold and he found it in the dryer. The ironic part was, he looked in the utility room to begin with but looked everywhere but the dryer.
Breakfast is served! It's Easter, we'll worry about their teeth rotting out tomorrow.
Look how cute I am. No, really. I'm cute, right? See, I knew you thought that I was cute.

Anatomy of a Mantle

During the Christmas season, I had a lovely pine and holly berry wreath hanging over the mantle. I loved the look of the wreath and when Christmas was over I decided to leave it because January was still the holiday season. By February I was feeling like one of those people who still has their Christmas lights hanging up outside during the month of July. No matter how good of an argument you pose, they are still Christmas lights, not "Independence" luminaries.

I took down the wreath and looked at the lackluster mantle and attached brick. I felt sad. I needed a new wreath. The problem is, I am too picky. I knew that I wanted something floral, something that would be not too summer/not too spring, but just right.

Those flowers look cheap.
Those flowers are too expensive.
That color is not even found in nature.

One evening, while I had some free time, I stopped in Michaels. There it was! A paragon of wreathness. Unfortunately, it was really over-priced. I bid the festoon adieu and went home to my empty mantle.

Last week, I stopped in Michael's again and this time! This time! It was on sale! 40% off! I left the store with my booty, got home and set out to dressing up my space.

See? It's sad right? Sad and bare. What I really want to do is give the whole mantle a face-lift. Can't you just see a sleek white mantle with some dental molding? A new set of brushed steel doors? Yeah, me too.

First I added my Pottery Barn beauties. Remember the free-shipping? My husband sure does.

These little beauties I found at Target for $1.79 each. Now tell me truly, would you have passed them up? Kevin is fond of calling them "hand grenades." I am not fond of this.

They look nothing like hand-grenades. Right? Hmmm....

And there she is, the Wreath. And this is how I put together a mantle. Our next lesson will be on how to convince your husband that a mantle face-lift is a smashing idea.

More Chicks, Man!

These chicks are going to be the death of me.

My demise.

The.End.

Curtains.

No really. It's like having a newborn. They are seriously cutting into my beauty rest.

Monday night I did not sleep well because the first chick had just begun to crack out of it's shell and I was afraid that it would hatch and die if I didn't get it out of the incubator on time. I woke-up, from a fitful sleep to begin with, four times. I didn't even get up with my babies that much. Needless to say he was fine, as evidenced by his birth photos yesterday.

We were able to see another chick make his grand entrance into the world at 5:55 p.m. on Tuesday. How pathetic am I?? Last night, as I was getting ready to go to bed, the other chick began to show signs that he was ready to pop out. So I waited up with him. The chicken! As in a farm animal! Until 1:15 a.m. Not only did I wait to see his chicken face, but I waited until he was strong enough to hop around a little bit.

I placed him in with his brothers and prepared to go to bed, but not before snapping this photo. The one born on my midnight watch is the brown striped fella. His homeboys saw that he was cold and migrated toward him. They nestled in and warmed him up.

Sniff, sniff. Makes a mother hen right proud, it does.
I checked the other eggs in the incubator and saw that there was not much going so I shuffled off to Buffalo.

I stumbled out of bed this morning to find Jeremy, perched excitedly next to the brooding box. "Mom!" he exclaimed. "There's 5!"

Five??

What on earth? Are they like gremlins? Did someone get them wet and they multiplied?

Nope. Two more were born early this morning and the rooster,er, Kevin, moved them into the brooding box.
Midnight Cowboy, as I like to call him, has some issues. He likes to peck his peeps. You can tell that he thinks he is better than the other chicks just by the look on his face. Smug little poultry.

And here is Joe. He has not left his chicks. I do not want to think about the therapy that he is going to need come 9a.m. tomorrow when the chicks leave us.

My eye is already twitching.

Chicks, Man!

A few weeks ago, a fellow homeschool mom asked me if the boys and I would be interested in a 4-H project, hatching chicks. We agreed and this past Thursday we received an incubator and 12 eggs. I had the job of turning the eggs and overseeing the proper humidity of the incubator. Two very important jobs. Long-time readers of this blog will recall that I have, in the past, been challenged with keeping living things alive.

Suffice it to say that botany is not my forte.

Today the eggs began to hatch. Joe was the first one to see the peeps rear their freaky looking heads. Cause let's be honest, they look bizarre when they bust out of their little egg houses.

Exhibit A:

Twenty-one days all cramped up in that hen fruit does things to a chick's neck.

Ahh, that's better. Now if I could just get this wing out. And my butt seems to be snagged on something back there.

Freedom! Hmm. Now what?

I'll just perch myself atop these guys. They won't mind.

So here he sleeps. He lifts his head and chirps for a few seconds and then passes out in a stupor. Another chick hatched a little while ago, but he is camera shy. He's not ready for his close-up.

I'll bore bombard you with more tomorrow.

Mommy Gets Tricked

Joe has always been the one of my three boys who derived the most pleasure from playing with the trains. I attribute this to his love of travel.

When we lived in New Jersey, the trains rarely made long-term appearances on the floor simply because of lack of space. Our old living room was 16x12. That, in theory, sounds peachy keen. But add in an over sized chair, a couch, a television armoire that could have doubled as a crypt it was so bulky, a small bookshelf, 5 people and a woman who despises clutter and you have...well, you have clutter. Clutter of the worst order. Clutter that is necessary if we would like to sit down and read occasionally. Or watch Survivor. Whichever.

Each person was assigned a 2x2 area of space in which to move about freely and that, as we all know, works amazingly well with three children under 8.

John would haul all of the trains out and set them up in a huge circle through the living room, dining room and kitchen. You only have to slip on Percy the engine one time to truly feel the injustice of the situation. The trains made their way to the basement and were rarely seen until we moved here.


As you can very well see, our train collection rivals that of the Franklin Mint, and this is only half of them. Joe asked me if I wanted to play trains with him and because I cannot resist his powers of cuteness, I played. In truth, "play trains with me" is code for "set them up nicely and then scram woman, playing trains is my bidness."

Behold!

My masterpiece.

Imagine if I used my mad train track building skillz for monetery gain.

He only looks cute. Ten minutes after I built the track he pulled it apart claiming it wasn't good because I didn't put make proper use of the crane, which is not pictured.

The Cuteness will only take you so far.

Three Cheers for the English!

Betcha didn't know that the English introduced 'em. I didn't.

It's almost Easter. How do I know this?

Because my favorite confection, The Cadbury Creme Egg, can now be found at your local shopping hole. Oh, sugary nirvana! A mere glimpse of the blue foil sends me into a Pavlovian tailspin.

I did a little googling and discovered that 1 egg has only 150 calories. Not too shabby. I give myself carte blanche during this time because after Easter those little worldly pleasures are gone. What a marketing campaign. I buy one four-pack on the Saturday before Easter and save them for absolute emergencies. It's sad to see their quantity dwindle, but before I know it, it's Easter again!

What is your favorite Easter Candy?

My Husband

Yesterday at church, as Kevin was doing the annoncements, I sat in my seat looking at him thinking how cute he was in his yellow polo shirt and how lucky I am to be married to him. Then he said this, "If you are interested in signing up for the Women's Day, please go to the table in the foyer where my wife is doing registration."

My wife. I love hearing him say those words.

My wife.

I belong to him. He's letting people know that I am his. Yes, I belong to that cute guy in the yellow polo shirt. I'm his wife.

It's a wonderful feeling, to know that you belong to someone. To know that no matter how many curveballs life throws at you, you still stand together.

To know that no matter what, everyday, you are going to just show up and say, I'm yours. You're mine. I'm here.

I just love hearing him say, That's my wife.

Wordless Wednesday